


play the game;

by sweetestsight



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (but only a lil bit), Aftercare, Choking, Jealousy, Kink Week, Light BDSM, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Roger is kind of a soft dom, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22455220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetestsight/pseuds/sweetestsight
Summary: John kisses Freddie to make Roger jealous. Roger is less than amused.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	play the game;

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd because I live fast and dangerously

Roger lets his boots thunk heavily on the bedroom floor as he paces closer, keeping each step slow and measured. He can see John’s fingers twitch against the mattress with each one.

_Thunk. Thunk._

Finally he stops beside the bed. He lets his fingers trace the dip of John’s spine, the graceful curve of the small of his back leading up to where his ass is pushed up into the air.

“See how nice it is when you’re good for me?” Roger murmurs, his voice low and soft.

John nods against the pillow.

“Words.”

“Yeah,” John babbles quickly. “Yeah, I want to be good.”

“I know you do,” Roger replies with a heavy sigh. “I know you do, baby, but you _weren’t,_ and that’s why we’re here.”

“I know,” John says quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” Roger chides. “Don’t they say that actions are louder than words?”

John nods, then catches himself. “Yes,” he says quickly.

“Then what do you think I should be doing right now?”

“Punish me,” John breathes.

The response is quick enough that Roger raises his eyebrows. He’s been thinking about this for a while, then—thinking about it long enough to plan out how he was going to act out, fantasizing about the way Roger would react. “Yeah?” he says aloud, his rough tone betraying the way his brain is stalling with hesitation. “You think you deserve a little hurt?”

“ _Yes,”_ John pants, squirming in place. It sends his hips swaying back and forth, and without thinking Roger reaches out to smack one in warning, and John _moans_ right off the bat, and _oh._

“How many spanks do you think you deserve?” Roger asks him, testing the waters.

John stalls again, mind seemingly reeling. “As much as you think I deserve,” he says hesitantly.

“Twenty,” Roger tries, and John sucks a breath in and nods frantically. “Count them. If you lose count I’ll start over.”

“Okay,” John says quickly. “Okay, I’ll be good for you. I promise.”

Roger smiles to himself, rolling up his sleeves carefully. “We’ll see.”

He takes a moment to take his boots off before climbing up onto the bed, his knees practically against John’s flank. He gathers John’s wrists carefully in his left hand before pressing them against the small of his back, leaving John’s face pressed against the mattress. “Is this okay?” he asks him softly, rubbing his right hand in soothing circles over his ass.

John nods. “It’s okay.”

“If you want me to stop just tell me and I will.”

“Okay,” John says, then pauses and adds, “I trust you.”

Roger nods. “Count,” he reminds him, and then pulls his hand back and lets it collide hard with John’s left cheek.

He hears the sound first, then feels the burn rising in his hand second, then hears John moan third. It’s a loud, broken sound, followed quickly with a huffed, _“One!”_

Roger rubs over the mark on his cheek. “Good boy,” he says, then lets the second one fly on the other side.

“Two!”

The third is overlaid with the first, and when John cries out the count his voice is already shaky and pinched.

Roger lets his hand fall again, a comfortable swing with no force held back, and John’s groaned “Four” is as relieved as it is pained.

“Tell me why you’re here,” Roger says, hitting him again.

“I—fuck, five—”

Roger waits for a beat, and when John doesn’t say anything he pulls back and hits him again, the cup of his palm cracking satisfyingly against his skin. “John,” he warns.

John’s shoulders heave as he takes a shuddering breath. “Six,” he breathes, practically an afterthought.

“Why are you here?” Roger asks, punctuating it with another slap.

“Seven!” John cries. “I kissed Freddie!”

“Not only that, you did it because…”

“Because I wanted to make you jealous,” John stammers. “Instead of just asking you for attention I went and kissed him to make you jealous and I’m sorry.”

Roger winds up and hits him across both cheeks at once. He puts some force into it this time, watching as John’s skin blooms immediately red right afterword and strengthens his grip around his wrists as John twitches and writhes. “If you wanted me to slap you around you could have just asked,” Roger says, forcing his tone sharp, and John nods into the mattress. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

John blinks blurrily for a minute, then goes suddenly tense. “I’m—I forgot what number we’re on,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That would have been eight,” Roger says flatly. “I thought you were going to be good for me. We’ll have to start over now.”

“No, I’m sorry! I knew what number it was. I—”

“Did you want me to add on ten more?” Roger asks, letting go of his wrists to tug at his hair.

“No,” John breathes. “It’s okay. Please hit me. I’ll be good.”

“John?” Roger asks quietly. “Is this too much?”

John pauses for a minute, gathering himself, and Roger is grateful. He’d rather see John make a show of thinking it over than just giving any answer. “This is good,” John whispers finally.

Roger nods, holding his wrists tightly again. “Count for me,” he says again, and then lets his hand come down hard.

John’s breath hitches around a moan. “One.”

He takes the rest well. He starts practically shouting around eight, but he doesn’t ever miss a number. By fifteen he’s barely even moaning anymore, just letting out odd hitched whimpering sounds, and after that he starts moaning again, long, low sounds. He counts number eighteen twice but Roger chooses to ignore it. If they start again chances are he won’t be able to count at all.

He reaches between his legs briefly to squeeze John’s cock and finds that it’s already hard, dripping heavily at the tip. “Last one, baby,” he murmurs, and John blinks up at him slowly.

When the fall lands John sighs, spine barely jumping beneath the hand holding down his wrists. “Twenty,” he mumbles, slightly slurred, his ass flamingly red.

“Good boy,” Roger breathes. “There you go. All done. You did it, you’re all done. See? How do you feel?”

“Good,” John sighs. “Foggy, a little. I wanna—will you let me come?”

“Yeah, baby,” Roger murmurs. He ducks low until his mouth is right next to John’s ear, and John hums as he squirms a little. “Yeah, I’ll make you feel good. See how easy it is when you behave?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want, honey? You get to choose since you behaved so well for me.”

“Fuck me,” John says immediately, his voice still low and strained, arching his hips back toward Roger.

Roger raises his eyebrows even as he reaches for the lube, flipping the lid open and rubbing some onto his fingers. “You sure?” he asks, tracing the tips of his fingers against John’s hole. “Sure you want me to fuck you when your ass is all red and raw like that?”

“Roger,” John says, and he must be coming back to himself because it almost, _almost_ sounds like a warning.

It’s for that reason that Roger doesn’t hesitate before pushing his finger in to the first knuckle with little to no warning.

John says his name again, this time in a decidedly less commanding tone, and Roger grins to himself.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters as John clutches weakly at the sheets. He avoids his prostate as well as he can—isn’t sure how much he can take, quite honestly—and gradually works his finger to loosen the muscle.

When he adds another John writhes, rocking forward seemingly without even realizing. Roger pinches his ass hard right on the reddest part and John immediately yelps before groaning low in his throat.

“Don’t squirm,” Roger reprimands.

“I’m not— _fuck,_ ” John slurs. He rocks forward again, and when Roger pinches him in the same place it only seems to spur him on.

He seems half out of his mind, and it’s only for that reason that Roger lets him get away with it. He follows him as he moves, slowly working a third finger past his stretched rim. It punches the air straight out of John’s lungs, and a moment later he’s collapsing entirely, his face pressed into the mattress as he groans.

“Look at you,” Roger murmurs. “You’re a mess for me.”

“Roger, _please._ ”

“Please what?”

He’s gasping against the sheets. It’s leaving a wet spot on the cotton. His lips are slack and very, very pink, and Roger wants to wreck him. “Fuck me. Please, I’m ready.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m supposed to be the one deciding that. Maybe I shouldn’t fuck you at all.”

_“Rog.”_

“I could just leave you here, would you like that? Huh? You want me to be mean, isn’t that right?”

“Please,” he breathes, and he sounds downright heartbroken now, his brow furrowed and his face all red.

Roger hums sympathetically. “Okay, baby. Come on, only because you asked so nice for me. I’ll take care of you, come on.”

He gets behind him, unbuttoning his jeans as he goes before tugging them just far down enough to free his cock. John is completely collapsed against the bed, flat against it, and Roger pulls him carefully up by his hips until he can shove a pillow beneath them. When John settles again he hums happily, wiggling until he’s settled.

“Ready?” Roger asks him, holding himself over him with one arm. He lubes himself up messily with his other hand, keeping his grip all but slack. Anything more and this is going to end embarrassingly early.

“Yeah,” John gasps.

“Don’t come until I say.”

“I won’t.”

“Good boy,” he whispers, and John preens.

He pushes into him slowly, holding his breath and thinking frantically of anything but the hot pressure around his cock and the way John is gasping into the mattress. When he’s all the way in he lowers himself down carefully until he’s resting against John’s back, holding him securely in his arms.

“Okay?” he whispers into his ear, and John nods.

He pulls out the tiniest amount before grinding back in, just a tiny motion. When John just sighs he thrusts into him again, a little harder this time, and John lets out a sound like a sob.

“Alright?” he asks, frowning.

“Yes,” John moans, squirming. “ _Fuck_ , Rog—your jeans, it’s…”

 _Shit._ He hadn’t thought about it, about how rough the fabric would be against his abused skin. “Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry. That—”

“No, I like it.” He takes in heaving breaths, and what Roger had thought was squirms to get away prove themselves to be experimental rubs against the fabric. He moans brokenly. “It’s good.”

He can feel the friction of the rough fabric dragging against John’s ass, still raw and red. It has to hurt. There’s no doubt in his head about that. He drags the fabric more firmly against him with the next roll of his hips, and John moans _loud._ “You like the way it hurts?”

_“Yes.”_

He smiles against the back of John’s neck. “You’re filthy, Deaks,” he murmurs, propping himself up with one elbow so he can trace the other up the base of John’s throat.

John seems to go tense all at once.

Roger kisses his shoulder carefully, settling his palm feather-light against his neck. “This okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” John says faintly. He licks his lips, then presses further toward the mattress, toward Roger’s hand. “More?”

Roger kisses him again, then uses the hand on his throat to pull him upward, biting at the line of his jaw. He starts fucking him for real, hard thrusts that drive John into the mattress and have his near-constant moans vibrating against Roger’s hand when they’re not catching in his throat. Roger can only gasp as John starts clenching around him, half boneless in his grip and half tense as a bow string.

He mouths at his neck mindlessly, John keening as he bites into the salty skin there. His groans are getting loud even for him, and Roger would have half a mind to spare a thought for the neighbors if he could bring himself to care at all.

“You close for me?” he asks.

John nods frantically against his hand, his eyes fluttering.

“Don’t come until I say.”

“Roger,” John slurs.

“Not until I say.” He reaches down with his free hand and slaps the side of his ass, hard enough to jolt him forward.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” John cries, slumping into the mattress.

“Yeah,” he says, slowing down suddenly. John groans long and low, but Roger doesn’t speed up, thrusting into him lazily and letting every drag of friction fizz through his blood. “Yeah, there you go. There you are.”

“Roger,” John slurs.

It’s not a game Roger can keep up for long, though. He already knows that. He can feel his own release fizzing at the base of his spine, and his measured pace is all but impossible to control. He gives in and lets need take over, driving into John rough and unsteady. “Wait,” he pants.

_“Please.”_

Roger removes his hand from John’s neck finally, sticking a few fingers into his mouth and angling himself until he’s thrusting right into his prostate, the bed banging against the wall. “Good boy,” he breathes, pleasure spiking all at once. “Okay, come on.”

John groans around his fingers, back arching beautifully as he tightens around Roger’s cock. He’s all but sobbing as he clenches around him, milking him for everything that he’s worth and losing himself in his own pleasure, and Roger feels his own eyes roll back.

He thrusts in once, twice more before his own release takes him and he comes _hard,_ collapsing against John’s back as he finishes inside him, hearing John moan loudly at the feeling of Roger’s come filling him up. He works himself through it, thrusting into him sloppily and hearing John sob at the oversensitivity, until finally he can’t keep it up anymore and he falls slack against him.

John is shaking softly. It’s the first thing he notices when he comes back to himself. He’s trembling like a leaf.

Roger kisses the corner of his mouth, pulling out carefully and wincing at the feeling of his oversensitive cock slipping free as John shudders and clenches around him. “Alright?” he whispers against his cheek.

John giggles—actually _giggles._ “Yeah, m’good.”

“Nothing sore?”

 _“Everything_ is sore,” he says, laughing again.

“Your throat?”

“No, not my throat. Everything else.”

Roger rolls off the bed.

“No, don’t leave.”

“It’s alright. I’m going to the bathroom, that’s all.”

John blinks up at him balefully, then huffs out a laugh as Roger almost trips over the jeans still stuck halfway down his thighs.

He tears them off quickly before crossing over to the bathroom, filling the cup beside the sink with water and then wetting a washcloth. He juggles the two as he digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds some vitamin-e oil he’d half-forgotten he had.

When he returns John lets out a long, contented sigh. He hums happily when Roger presses a kiss to his mouth and works the pillow out from under his hips.

“Can you prop yourself up enough to drink this?” Roger asks, offering him the cup.

John frowns. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it. Drink a little bit.”

John’s frown deepens. He props himself up on his elbows before gulping down the whole thing as if he hasn’t had water in weeks.

Roger shakes his head fondly. He manages to pull John’s hips up just enough to wipe off most of the mess between his thighs. After a less careful wash of himself he throws the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom, pours some of the oil into his palm and begins rubbing it across the reddened skin of John’s ass.

John gasps when he does it, lowering himself back onto his stomach. “Cold,” he murmurs.

“Sorry.”

“S’nice.”

Roger lingers in his task, spreading the oil carefully and taking in each one of John’s shivers and sighs. When he’s finally done John is all but boneless against the sheets, and when Roger pulls his hand away he reaches toward him.

“Alright, alright,” Roger murmurs with a smile. He lays down and leans back until John can scoot into his space, settling his head beside Roger’s own, half his weight against Roger’s chest.

Roger plays with the strands of hair spread out against John’s back lazily. He drops a kiss to the top of his head. “You know,” he says conversationally. “If you really want to do this again, you don’t need to go make out with Freddie in front of me to make it happen.”

John snuffles against his neck. “I know. It was silly of me. You know he and I would never do something like that for real, right?”

“Of course I do,” Roger replies quickly, because he does. He trusts both of them. “I just don’t want you to think you can’t tell me if you want something.”

“I know that,” John replies softly. “I know. You give me everything I could ever want, Rog. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“And don’t worry. I’ve got a few ideas for riling you up that _don’t_ involve implying infidelity as well.”

Roger smirks up at the ceiling. “What, you can’t just ask me next time?”

“Now where would be the fun in that?”


End file.
